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Mr. Rayner was right. I was very t1 red ; and the next morning I overalept myself, and did not come down-stairs until bnak- fast was more than half over. It had been unusually punctual, and, to my surprise. , ALA AAA- no I the burguéhaggémé Irounri to thé door, as I went into the dining-room, and I found Mrs. Rayngxfln gytdogr dress at the table. 77‘ .1! ..,.L nun. AW,“ .. ~_-____ “Well, Miss Christie. we have all got tired of you ; so we are going to leave you all alone at the Alden-s,” said Mr, Rzyner, when he saw my astonished ~lace». I: A In“. "nun m. u... ..._, ............ And, when he had amused himself a, little longer by all sorts of absurd stories about their departure, I found that he was going up to town for a. few days, and that Mrs. Rayner was going with him as far a; Benconaburg ataticn. He was going on busi- ness, he said; but he should combine plea. sure with itâ€"go the round of the theatres, and perhaps not be back until Saturday. This was Tuesday. “\Vould you like to go to Beeconsburg with us? You have no lessons to do, as Haidee is still in bed. And I dare say you have some little purchases to make; and you can change the books at the circulating- ]ibrary, and Mia. Rayner will have a. com- panion to drive back with " _- u... “-Annanl yw-uu av u“... -___ .._ Mrs. Rayner did not receive the proposal with enthusiam ; but he told me to run up- stairs, put on my things, and be down be- fore he could count thirty; and I was in the dining-room again, panting and struggl- ing with ‘my gloves, in scarcely more than the prescribed time. There was plenty of room for me on the little seat in front of them in the h‘ougham but I had great diffi- culty in dissuading him from sitting outside by the coachman in order to give us more room. 1 can't makes more. ” guy...- “’hen we got to the station, we found we were there a. great deal too soon. Mr. Rayner walked up and down, talking to the station-master and the people he knew, tell- ing every one where he was going, and ask- ing |those among them Who had been to London lately what were the best plays to go and see, and if they knew of a really good hotel. not too expensive, within easy distance of the ths atres. He said to me once, when I was standing beside himâ€" r “If anything should happen while I am awayâ€"if Haidce should get worse, or Mrs. Rayner frighten you, or anythingâ€"telegraph to me at once at the Charing Cross Hotel. I don't know whether I shall be there ; but if you send it there it will reach me. You will.find some forms in my study, and you will just write it without saying a. word to anybody, and take it right to Sam, and tell him to go to Beaconsburg with it at once. Mind to Sam ; don’t trust any of the women- servants.” "-Ivgvâ€"o-rfiiered he c'id not entrust this duty to the all~important Sarah ; but I accepted the charge yvlfibgu}; gommem. _-_, . .- nu ,-~n "\Vhat shall 1 bring you this time ?" said he, just before the tlsain came up. “Roses are out of season. Some more paste to match your pendant? ’ ‘ Oh, no, no 1" answered I. “You know Ican't wear it, Mr. laymr; and it only makes me vain and makes me wmh 101' “Ah I though so !" said he, half to him- self, maliciously. "Well, wxahes always come true if one wishes them hard enough. Inhall bring you some garnets. That is the most expensive red stone, and very pretfy._’f . ‘ ‘r I‘l ,u,,, ,,_L. T "a, rm“ V “0n, 1’ think I would rather not! I really don‘t want any jewellery, Mr. Ray- ner." declared I. B11; the train had come up. He said good-bye affectionately to his wxfe and kind- ly to me : and we saw him off, and then made our purchases and drove back to Geldham. It was lather an uncomfortable drive, for the only remark Mrs. Rayner made was, when I sand it was coldâ€" “Then you had better order them to light the fire in your room early, Miss Christie. Mr. Rayrer wi!1 upset the whole household i. you take cold While he is away. ’ Then she shut her eyes and want, or pre- tended to go. to sleer, and I looked at her and thought what an unpleasant person she was, until the hollows in her face and the suffering expression about her mouth touch- ed me. \Vny did she shut herself up and persist in being miserable. instead of re- turning her husband’s love and chtnging the melancholy Alders into the cherrful, bright place it might be? t“. ._L-_. T "laâ€"L LA V"D~' 7"" u I spent a. dull day ; for, when I Went to see Haidee, Mrs. Rayner instantly let: the room, and lcould not help seeing that it was to avoid me; so I was obliged to resist the sick child’s entreaties for me to stav, and to go back and wander by myself about the house and garden, too minemble in my thoughts about; Laurtnce and his cruel de- gertion of me to be able to read or work. -'-A-{'1;€a:-time Mrs. Rayner did not appear. Sarah said that Haidce was worse, and that her mother would not leavelxer. “The even- ing was very; 5616, and, as Mrs. Rayner 1131 rather oatentatioualy told June to light Mlss Christie’s fire di‘ecbly after dinvngr, I went EgAto myâ€" (Evil Vroom as soon as I had finish- ed tea, and sat on the hearthrug, ani nurs- ed my sorrow where at least I conld be warm. It Qas about seven o’clock when Jana came up to say that Haidee was worse, and was_cry§ng opt for mp u- '7, 1;. “I think she is going to die, miss-I do indeed," said kind little Jane sobbing. “They won’t let me in there : but I've been listening, for Mr. Rayner’s away, and Sarah’s out. and I don’t care not that much for Mrs. Rayner l"â€"â€"and she snapped her fingers contemptuously. “I heard Miss Ha.»- dee a calling for you, miss; and I don’t be- lieve she knows what she's saying, poor little dear, and they ought to sind for a. doctor; but I don't suppose they will. Sarah don’t care, and Mrs Rayner, don't dareâ€"that's about it, miss.” And J ane gave me a nod and an express- ive look as I went out of the room with her. I knew the servants, one and all, looked upon their mistress as a poor‘spirited thing, while they had some admiration and a great deal of respect for their master. The few orders she gave they filled in a spirt of condescension (1‘ neglected alto- gether, while a word from him acted like a spell upon any one of them. Thus, hehavingordered thatMrs. Rayner, being an invalid, was not to be disturbed by sweepings, and dustinqs, and noises in the passage leading to her room, no member of the household ever dared to enter the left IN 60”)“ 801V BS. CHAPIER XIX. was very tired : wing but Sarah, who had charge of the long coxridor, bed-rocm, dressing-room, and store room which it contained, although it was shut out from the rest of the house merely by a heavy baize-covered swing- door with only a bolt, which was seldom, I believe, drawn in the daytime. So that Jane felt like a heroine after having ven- tured on the other side of that door ; and, when we came to it, she stood looking first at it and then at me. as if to touch it again was more than she dared. “Oh, miss,” said she, as I stepped for- n 7,, u. ward to go through, "suppose Mr. Rayner was in there '3" “But Mr. Rayner is in London" returned I, laughing. “Ah, yes, miss I But he do come Lack that sudden sometimes he might be a ghost. Of course it’s all right for you, miss ; but, if he was to know I’d been in there, oh, miss, I should die 0’ fright! When he’s angry, he just speaks fit to cut yer head off.” I laughed at lane's fears. and pushed open the door, not without difficulty. for it was very heavy, and, Jane’s courage having eva. porated. she dared not help me. My teeth chattered as I went through this passage, it was so cold ; and what was my surprise to find, when I got to the end, that the win- dow had been left open on this chilly, and wet Ostober evening 1 I took the liberty of shutting it, and, returning to the dressing- room door, I tapped softly at it. I could hear Haidee’s voice. but I could not hear what she said, and Mrs. Rayner was sobbing and calling her by name. I went in softly, and with a. shriek the mother started up from her knees ; she had been on the floor beside the bed. Haidee knew me, though her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with fever, and she wandered in her talk. I sat on the bed and tried to make her lie down and keep the clothes over her, for the room was as cold as the corridor. Mrs, Rayner was clinging to the rail at the bot- ,,, _ _:LI_ tom of the little bed“ and watching me with eyes as glittering as the child’s. I felt just a little tremor of fear. Had I trusted my- self alone with a. sick child and a madwo- man on the verge of an outbreak of fury? Her bosom heaved and her hands clutched the rail tightly as she saidâ€" ”, . n I__ D "'.I “ "" “What right have you to come here? Are you not snug and warm upstairs in your turret? \Vhy must you come and exult over me? You were welcome to my bus- band. Then you took my child. Can you not spare her to me now she is dy- ing?" . .. . . u, 7,7,LA1I_ L- ci 'had heard that one must always talk to mad people as if one thought them sane ; so I saidâ€" “Not dying, Mrs. Rayner ; don’t say that. I came down just to see If I could be of any use. Why don't you take her into your own warm room? It is so cold in here. And wouldn’t it be better to send in for Dr. Maitland? Oh, I forgot! H5 is away. But you might send Sam to Beacons- burg for Dr. Lowe.” . . . . . q -_._, .-_ a Her manner changed. As she looked at me, all the anger, all the little gust of de- fiance faded out of her great eyes, and she fell to sobbing and whisperingâ€" “ I dare notâ€"I dare not i" “ May I take her into your room, Mrs. Rayner?” “No no." ‘ Then, if you will allow me, I will take her up into mine. You won't mind her be- ing so far away from you. if you know it is better for her. will you T" said I persuasive- ly. “It is so beautifully warm up there that it won’t matter if she throws the clothes off her, as she can’t help doing, poor little thing ; and I’ll wrap her up well, so that she shall not take cold on the way.” Mrs. Rayner stared at me helplessly. “Will you dare?" she asked fearfully. "Certainly, with your permission.” “You know very well that my permis- sion is nothing," sobbed she. “And I don’t wonder, you poor spiritless thing l" I thought to mysell. But I was very sorry for her ; and I asked if she would like to have my room for the night, to be near the child. But she was frightened at the idea ; so I wrapped the child up Well in a blanket, thinking I would put her in my owu bed until her little one could be taken up- stairs. I was rather frightened myself at the thought of giving such an order to the awful Sarah, and, just as [was debating with myself whether she would be likely to obey it, she entered the room. I attacked her at once. "Sn-ah, I want you to bring bed up into my room, if you is too cold for her. Jane can is too heavy.” n She seem'ed not to be quite to be insolent or submisslve. for the former. "A'ld by what authmity, miss, do you give orders for moving around the furni- ture '3” “Your mistress Wishes it to be dcne.” “My mistress! And pray who is that, miss .7" “You knowâ€"Mrs. Raymr." "And is that all the authority you have, The; V'vome‘n both started, and Sarah took up the bed and without a word went out of the room. I turned to Mrs. iBayAnerL miss “No,” said I boldly ; "more than thatâ€" Mr. Rayner I" _ 7. .m..,v “Don’t be alarmed about Haidee," I said gently. “I’ll take great care of her. And, 1f you will just give your consent, I will send for a. doctor on my own responsibil- ity.” ‘u~ \HNAA The poor thing atoopei and kissed one of the hands I held round the child. “Heaven bless you, Miss Christie !" she murmured ; and, turning away, she sank down upon an empty space where the bed had been, and burst into a flood of tears. She would not listen to the few incoherent words I said to comfort her; and I was ob- liged to leave the room with tears in my eyes, and carry my patient up stairs. I could not go very last, for the burden was rather hravy for a small woman like me; and by the time I got up-stairs the bed was ready,_ and Sarah had disappeared. n «r And now how to get fdoctor? For I was seriously alarmed about the child. To expect any more help from barah was out of the question. I went down to the nursery, called Jane, who was just going to bed, and aaked her where Sun slept. “In the village,” said she. Nobody slegt at the stables now that Mr. Rayner was away, except the old gardenu-, who would certainly never reach Beacons- burg before daybreak if I sent him out at 7n M}: Rayner Miss Haidee’s please. This help you if it sure whether She decided nine o'clock at night. Jane was too young to be sent. all that way alone at night, the cook too old. There was only one thing to be done ; I must go myself. “Go and ask cook, if she is not asleep, 90 1*nd me her big round water-proof cloak, Jane,” said I, “and bring me one of Miss Haiaee’s Shetland veils." She ran away, astonished, to fetch them; and then, seeing I was in earnest, she help- ed quickly and well to make me as like a. middle-aged countrywoman as possible by buttoning my cloak, fastening a garden-ha: round my head like a. poke-bonnet, and at- taching my veil to it. Then she tied up “umâ€"b V-.. .7 _ my umbrella. like a market-woman's. and let me out, giggling a little at my appear- ance, but promising faithfully not to leave Haidee till my return, and to “stand up to Sallie" if she interfered. I felt rather frightened at the boldness of my undertaking as I heard the hall door close upon me, and I realised that I had no- thing in the world but my umbrella and my wits to protect me all the long three miles and a. half of road to Beaconaburg. ‘The moon was at the second quarter. but did not give much light, for it was a. cloudy night, raining now and then. I was not sorry for this, as I was the less likely to be recognis- ed, and it was not the sort of weather to encourage late loiterers. I passed two or three villagers, only one of whom walked un- steadin ; but none of them took any notice of me; and I had got past the last of the Geldham cottages. and on to a. piece of straight road up a hill, where there was no houses in sight, when I heard the sounds of a. vehicle coming along at a. good pace be- hind me. It slackened to come up the hill, and I, to keep up my character. bent over my umbrella and walked more slowly. But this subterfuge had an undesired effect. nv u 1 "alriglrlgfrrfi? good woman! Would you like alift up the hill ?" cried the dnver; and my heart leapt up, for it was Lmrence’s vmce. In a. moment I felt like a. different wo- man ; my blood seemed dancing for joy, my pulses heat more quickly, and the spirit of mischief came into me so that I wanted to laugh aloud_._ - . . . . u 1 “Ay, ay 1” I grunted out slowly; and. waiting until the cart came up to me, I climbed with his help and with seeming dif- ficulty, carefully keeping my cloak over my hands. on to the seat by his aide. “All right 2" said he ; and again I grunted “Ay, ay 1” and on we went. Oh, how happy I felt to be again by his side! But it was rather hard not to be able to take the hand that was nearest to me, and nestle up to his shoulder. and tell him how miserable I had been since last night. when he had rushed away with the dreadful threat of not seeing me again. \Vell, now he should see me again ; he could not help himself. I felt rather nervous as to what he would say when I did discover myself. Was he still angry? Would he insist upon getting down and oing the rest of the way on foot? Or woul he say more unkind things to me? Or would he be pleased to see me, and forgive me? He was not in every conversational mood. Was be thinking of me, I wondered, or was it only that in my disguise I did not promise to prove an entertaining companion? He asked me if I was going to Baaconsburg, and I said “Ay, ay 1" again. I knew very well that a. real countrywoman would not say “Ay, ay 1” and I was surprised that it did not strike Laurence himself as a strange sort of answer. I began to get impatient for him to know me. I looked at him furtively ; he was evi- dently not at all curious or interested about his companion. But he looked very grave and thoughtful; and presently, to my ex- ceeding comfort, he pulled down over his wrists two little uncomfortable woollen cuffs that I had made, that he had bought of me at the sale. I remembered them quite well, we had had a struggle to get them over his wrists, as 1 had made them a convenient size, too large for a. woman and too small for a man. It seemed to me that he handled them lovingly. Upon this encouragement I spoke. A “Aren’t you going to talk ‘2" said I in my natural voice. We had passed the hill, and were going along at a. good pace ; but he gave the rams aucl} 7a jerk may the horsepPopped. “You won't be cross with .me again, will you 2’” said I, anxious to pledge him to good temper while he was in the first flush of his joy at meeting me; for it was joy. He slipped the reins into his nght hand, and put his other mm around me and kissed me, Shetland veil and all. And so we made it up without a word of explanation. I told him my errand, and he told me his. His father had gone up to towntbat day to arrange for the disposal of some shares in order to purchase a. farm for Laurence a. few miles off, which was to be stocked, ac- cmliug to his promise, while his son was away. He was to return by train which reached Beaconsburg about ten o’clock, and Laurence was on his way to meqt l1im. T‘\\'e will call at DE. Lowe’s first, and then you shall go on with me to the station and see my f_ath_e.r,"’ ag‘id‘h'e. “1‘ fiétgs'ted a. “file that I ought to go back with the doctor ; but of course he carried his point. ---, . . . , r, r,,, rm,“ “What do you want a. farm for, Llur- ence?" I asked. as we waited outside the station. 7 . - I remained in the cart holding the reins, for fear my quiet appearance should excite curiosity regarding young Mr. Reade’s com- panion if I got out and went into the sta- tion with him. But he stood by my side holding my band under my cloak while we talked in a. low voice. “What do I want a farm for? Why to have a. home for you and a something to live cu, of course I I know something about farming, and it doesn’t matter if I do lose a. little just_at firgt.” “But why did you want to goon preparing a. home for an ‘accomplished coquette.’ whom you said last night you were never going to see again ?” A v u .- u “(fine isn’t always answerable for what one says to a tormenting little witch like you,"sa.id Liurence, laughing. "You did’nt suppose I was really never going to see you agaln, now did you '2" “I shouldn't have cared,” said I. “Ah, I was right about the coquetryl You wouldn’t have told such a. story before you went to Denbam Court. I was coming to see you to-morrow evening. I’ve had to be away all to-day over at Lawley. and I have to be there again to-morrow with my father; but in the evening I skull call at the Alflers and ask boldly for Miss Christie. S) mind you are not out." "I shall not promise.” “And we will have a good long ta'k to- getht 1', since, thank Heaven, Mr. Rayner is away ; and I will give you an address where a lettn‘ will reach me. ’ We were so intent upon our conversation that I did not notice that there was a. man standing very near us during the last part of it. As Laurence finished speaking. he turned his head, and suddenly became aware that the train had come in while we were talking. "By Jove! \Vait for me, darling,” he cried hastily, and then dashed of? flu quick‘y that he ran against the man, who was dressed like a navvy, and knocked his hat off. When he returned with his father, who greeted me wry kindly. he looked pale and anxious. “Do you know who that man was I ran against 1'“ he whispered. “That navvy 2" "It was no navvy. it was Mr. Rayner." “Laurence I” said I, increduously. “I tell you it wasâ€"I swear it! What was he doing. akulking about in that get- up? He came down by this train. He must have overheard what we were saying. Now mark what I say, Violetâ€"I shall not see you again." .‘I .-.. “L‘sten, Violet,” be interrupted. “If you do not see me to-morrow night before seven o’clock, be at your ‘nest’ without fail at half-past.” _ A“ _. - ... v “But IBUI‘ence, how could he prevent it? You will come to the house and ask for me "Very well, I will. Laurenceâ€"I will. I promise,” But nothing would reassure him. “I tell you it; will be of no use, my dur- lin zâ€"of no use. \Ve must say good-bye to- night, for I shall not see you again 1” During the whole of the drive back to Geldham it was old Mr. Reade who talked to me, and;not Laurence, who drove along, silent and grave, pulling my cloak affection- ately up to my throat every now and then, and watching me as I talked to his father, but scarcely speaking himself at all. When we got. to the gate of the Alders, he jumped out, carefully lifted me down, and' telling his father to drive on home, a; he would walk the rest of the way, he came inside of the gate with me. “Violet,” he said very gravely, “I am afraid I have been foolish in agreeing to my father's wishes, and I am more anxious about you thanI can tell. The Alder: is no fit place for you. I can see quite well now what I could not when I was blinded by my passion lalt night, that you are so good and innocent that evil seems to have no power over you ; but yetâ€"â€"â€" Andâ€"and it is just that which makes you so sweet ; and I don‘t want to spoil it, opening your eyes, and all that.” He was playing nervously with my hand. holding it against his breast, and looking into my eyes so miserably, poor fellow I “Look here, Violet 1" said he sud- denly, as if struck by a. happy thought. “If any man, while I am away, tells you you are nice, and tries to make you think he is very fond of youâ€"no matter who it isâ€" Mr. Rayner orâ€"or my father, or any other manâ€"don’t take any notice, and don’t be- lieve them." But poor Laurence was more innocent than I if he tnought I did not know what he meant. He was jaalous of Mr. Rayner, and I could not persuade him how absurd it was. 1 said, “Very well. Lmrence;" but he was not satisfied. He went on trying to justify himselfâ€"not. to meâ€"he wanted no justification in my eyesâ€"bu: to himself. N- .. ‘- «. ,l; 3.5 _t J “Van could I do, when my old dad of- fered to do so much for me, but let him have his way? But it was wrong. I kno 1?. Our engagement ought to have been open from the first ; and hxs weakness in not daring to face my mother was no Norse than mine in giving way to him. And now I am tortur- ed lest my weakness should be visited on you, child ; for I cannot even write to you openly, and, HI endoae letters to you to ,AW-n A... Uptuly, uuu, u L vuvlvav lvuvvlu .v JV- -v my dear old blundering dad, you will cer- tainly never get: them." "\Vhy not send them to Mrs. Manners, Lmrence? Then they would be quite safe. And you don’t mind her knowing, do you? I think she guesses something already.” said I, smiling, remembering how she sent me to the gate to meet him on the previous Friday evening, the very night he first told me he loved me. He caught at the su gestion eagerly. “That is a. capitali ea.‘ darling! I’ll go to her before breakfast to-morrow morning and ask her to look after you as much as she can while I am away. I don't think she is very fond of my sistersâ€"I wish they were nicer for your sake, darling, especially Maud. I Wish some one would marry her ; but no one is such a fool.” “0h, Laurence. she is your sister 1" "I can’t help that ; I wish I could. Alice, the little one, isn’t half so bad; it is only being with Maud that spoils her. If you ever get Alice alone, you will find her quite nice.” I had already had proof of that, and Itold him so. ‘ B 1t one can’t confide in her, because she would tell everything to Maud, and Maud to my mother. You have no idea what the tyranny at those two women are like; my father dreads and I avoid them. My mother thinks she holds my destiny in her hand ; but she is mistaken ; and within the next six weeks she must find it out ; for if she wishes to stay abroad longer, she Wlll. have to stay alone. By the third week in November [shall be back in England, and before the month is out you must be my Wife. my darling.” “0h, Laurence, so soon I" A young Glasgowegian being on a. visit to Dundee for the first time was taken through the “lions” by his friend, a native of the town. Nothing he saw, however, seemed to interest him, a'nd after gazing about for a. time as if something was lacking, be ex- claimed, "But whaur’a yer Green ?" “Oh, we have nae Green here," replied his friend, “but we haveâ€"â€"â€"" “Dear me,” broke in the son of St. MunEO. “has ye nae Green? Then whaur on earth dae ye gang tae fecht ?” CHAPTER XX. (TO BE CONTINUED.) 094-»..1 n he El! mfirmlty Repeated In the Experience of a Leading Public Man - Truths for the Aged. (Syracuse. N. Y .. Courier.) “How long has he been in public service 2' “ Before the memory of the oldest inbabi taut.” “ And he has kept his name untarnished during all that period ?” ” Absolutely l ” “He is a man I should like to meet.” The above conversation occurred between two gentlemen at one of our leading hotels. The interrogater was from abroad. the other a. resident of this city. The conversation had drifted into politics and Hon. Thomas G. Alvord was the man whose record and qualities were being discussed. To trace the history of public men who have growu old in the service is a task both interesting to the investigator and entertaining to those who read his investigations. It was with this truth in mind that the writer set out to call upon the man, about whom those politicians were so earnestly talking, at his spacious residence on Turtle street. 3 :, .r-._.:l: Mr. Alvord, who has been and is, famili- arly known as “ Old Salt,” owing to his ad- vocacy of the salt interest, is now well advanced in years, being on' the shaiy side of seventy. He has long. white hair and a snowy beard which give him an appearance both dignified and grand. His voice is full and clear and the moment any stranger comes into his presence he cannot but be imv Dressed with the inherent power of the man. Indeed he was endowed by nature with an unusually strong organization, both mental- ly and physically, which all the strain of public life, both as speaker of the Assembly and Lieutenant-Governor. failed, for many years, to in any way undermine. .An. 1 u I! It was during the year 1881. while Mr. Alvord was a member of the Assembly at Albany, that he first began to feel, most peculiar sensations. At that time he was in the midst of very important work, which was seriously interiared with by reason of the mysterious troubles which seemed to assail him. He felt unaccountable nausea. almost constantly, accompanied by occasion- al violent retchings. History recounts that Napoleon the Great, while in the midst of his public career, was frequently attack- ed by an enemy greater than any he had ever faced, which came in the same insidious yet violent manner as theterrible troubles that overtook Mr. Alvord, and are to-day menac- ing so many thousands of others. In speak- ing on this subject to the writer, Mr. Alvord said : " This same bitter experience came to me again in 1882 while I was a. member of the Assembly, with symptoms identical to those I had felt the year before. I believe it was largely caused by my advanced years, for I had a‘wnrn out’ feeling that was terrible. This conclusion is evidently the correct one, for I was again attacked last Summer while away from all cares and recreating at my Island in the St. Lawrence River. I ex- perienced a painful sense of fullness in the lower portion of the body, accompanied by sensations of feverish heat or chilling shud- ders. All efforts to move my limbs or body were followed by intense wearinesa or ex- haustion. Those who have reached my years can appreciate my sensations." ‘ ' “And did neither yâ€"ourself nor the phy- sicians understand the cause or nature of these troubles ‘2” “ It seems not entirely, for the physi- cians failed to relieve me and I kept grow- ing worse. I suffered intensely and the only relief I could possibly obtain was by lying upon my back and this was only temporary.” A‘ ‘ But'you are looking well mid stréng néw, Mr. Alvord. How did you bring about the change?" "By using a remedy which is very popu- lar and which I have found wonderfully ef- ficientâ€"\Varner’s Safe Care. Indeed it has proven remarkable in its: power over me. I believe in it and therefore recommend it to others, especially to those who are advanced in life ; who feel a. breaking down when there is no necessity and whose lost vitality and manhood remind them of their increas- ing years.” The interview then drifted to~other topics, but as the reporter gazed at the man whose experience is so lips and who has seen so much of the different phases of life, he could not but wish that those who are suffering from the verious forms of physical ailment, and especially those persons who are ad- vanced in years, might see and converse With the veteran whose experience and knowledge have been so rich and who is so firm a. believer in the efiimcy of the remedy that our d him. There is no excuse for shortening life. as so many have done and are doing. There is no necessitv for “marking down” early in years. Prem- ature decay and death are a. disgrace to our modern civilization. They are wholly need- less and men or women who permit them when they can be so easily avoided should blame no one but themselves. Some men give according to their means, and a )me according to theu‘ meanness. PEOTORIAI Pectorin lPectonn l the great remedy for Coughs. Colds. Bronchitis. Sore Throat. Influenza, Honrseneas and all infections of the Lungs and Throat or Chest. i’ectoria loosen the phlegm and breaks up the Cough. 25 cents per bottle. Don't give up until} you have trifiad Peotorin. all anggns‘ fa md General Storekeeper: Be it. The man who ate his dinmr with the fork of a. river ha: been attempting to spin a. mountain top. DON'T WAIT.â€"Why suffer a sin 19 moment, when you can get immediate relie from inter- nal or external pain by the use of Polsou's NER- VILINE. the great pain cure? Nerviline has never been known to fail. Try a lOcent sample bottle. You will find itjust as recommended. Neuralgia, toothache, cramps, headache. and all sim'uar complaints disappear as if by magic when Nerviliue is used. Large bottles 25 cents. Test. bottles 10 cents, at Druggists‘ and Medicine Dealers. A couple of thorns in the side of the Government.â€"“Ma."-hdi and “Pa.”-hdi. (Mahdi and Paddyâ€"don't you see ?)â€"â€"Funny Folks, BANK BARNS. UHEESE FAUTDRIES, NAPOLEON THE '4 Mil naul AN MAGDOUGALL, CHARGES MODERATE H Ont A.P 168 ,u